In the middle of the night of August 26, 1942, a group of French police under the orders of the Nazis rounded up a group of Jewish families in Nice.

My father’s family including his Aunt Anna and cousins Bernard and Lisette were among those taken to military barracks. There, according to Bernard’s widow, Dorothy Fall in her book Bernard Fall: Memoirs or a Soldier-Scholar, “They all mingled in the filth and heat for a week.”

My great-uncle Leo, husband to Anna and father of Bernard and Lisette, was later tortured and murdered by the Gestapo in November 1943 while he lay sick in a hospital bed.

The effort of the Nazis to exclude Jews and other groups of people from everyday life in Europe (and then exterminate them) was the ultimate form of localism.

Long-time residents and citizens of France including my own father, were delisted as “locals” or residents and all their rights and in many cases, their lives, were forfeited.

Those images of my father’s family came to mind when in 1980 at the age of 15, I witnessed a shooting in Imperial Beach during a community celebration of a cleanup of the Tijuana Estuary I helped organize and carry out.

While my friend Chris Patterson and I listened to a man and his friend sing and play the guitar outside the old Imperial Beach fire station, two men, members of the Aryan Brotherhood, confronted our group.

“Hey n…., get the hell out of here,” the taller of the two men yelled at the guitar player who was African-American.

“Why don’t you get the hell out of here,” responded the friend of the guitar player.

Without saying anything, the tall man took out a pistol and shot the guitar player’s friend in the mouth.

Unfortunately today, groups of thugs or self-described “locals” still populate the coastline and harass anyone they deem to be a “non-local” often using violence to prevent their fellow Americans from using public space.

According to Larry Herzog, Professor of Urban Planning at SDSU, localism reflects, “The increasing ecology of privatization and socio-economic segmentation in American cities. We have become a nation of gated communities,and the ‘ecology of fear.’ Surfers – without realizing it… are channeling a preference for personal space, fenced yards or marked territory, and the unfamiliarity with being ‘public,’ or gracious about sharing a public space, like the ocean.”

“Aggressive localism..reflects more the weakening of class and racial boundaries..along with increasing density and diversity,”said Edward Sojoa, Distinguished Professor of Urban Planning and Studies at UCLA. “Nearly everyone feels their space is being invaded. In defense, they re-territorialize, buy guns and guard dogs, defend their turf, buy advanced security systems, move into gated and armed guarded communities, and hang out signs that tresspassers will be shot.”

I asked Kevin Keenan, the Director of the San Diego branch of the ACLU if the act of harassing or intimidating anyone from using public space, in this case the coast and ocean, violates fundamental American civil liberties?

“In U.S. v. Allen, the 9th Circuit,” wrote Kevin, “held that a band of racist thugs who patrolled a public park and kicked out some people through threats and intimidation based on their race were violating their federal civil rights (a federal crime). You could argue that civil rights law protects against chasing people off a beach or wave based on their race, color, religion, or national origin, but should also extend to other kinds of groups, like where a person resides. Not incidentally, given segregation in our society and other reasons, where a person resides often relates closely to race, color, religion, and national origin.”

The sad fact is that most surfers don’t practice localism, but most do little if anything to prevent the bullying, violence and thuggery they witness by “locals” on almost a daily basis.

Engaging in localism is different than regulating a lineup. That can be done quietly and requires the type of leadership skills that hothead angry “locals” just don’t have.

I only wish that the true definition of being a surfing local meant that a person was invested in the stewardship and conservation of a surf spot.

Instead of berating those of us who violate their “territory”, angry “locals” should instead take leadership to conserve the beaches, waves and coastal and marine ecosystems and wildlife that grant us the good fortune of enjoying the blessings of surfing great waves and immersing ourselves in the ocean.

Imagine a world in which surfers worked together to save our surfing areas instead of screaming and fighting with each other over who has the right to enjoy the coast and ocean.

We would surf more, be happier, and have a greater number of spots to surf.

Like this:

When I learned to surf it was easier to cross the border to Baja then head north, where the rumors of ugly localism, crowds, and higher costs, dissuaded me and my friends from surfing Southern California’s iconic breaks.

So, I have never surfed Malibu, and I have only surfed Rincon in the past few years during the Sharing the Stoke Surf Classic.

But now that surfing Baja is not as fun -or as easy- as it used to be (and the fact that most of the spots between Tijuana-Ensenada are fenced off), I often head north with my two teenage sons and their friends. Especially when IB is polluted.

And, during Spring Break, IB was very polluted. So, I spent three days carting around my sons and their friends Shane Landry and Joe Fernandez to Scripps Pier, La Jolla Shores and Black’s for uncrowded and fun waves.

Our first stop along the way was Trestles. Our session at Lowers proved why Surfline recently called it one of Southern California’s “most rippable Summertime attractions.” The mid-morning crowd at Lower’s was manageable, the water was in the low 60’s and the southern hemisphere swell provided great 3-5’ rippable walls.

My strategy at Lower’s is to sit inside the main local crew (who are usually friendly). I patiently wait for the swing sets or the waves the outside crew miss and if I’m lucky can get a great right all the way into the inside. The boys tend to sit on the inside with the grom pack and pick off the waves that everyone else misses.

After two hours, the boys and I headed back on the trail to the Christianitos parking lot. After loading up our gear in the pickup, we made it over to the Pipe’s Café, a true surfer hangout with giant photos of epic waves and surfers at Trestles lining its walls. The breakfast burritos the boys ordered were so big they couldn’t finish them (a historic first). I stuck with a veggie omelet.

The minute we hit the PCH from I-10 in Santa Monica, we were in the upscale world of Pacific Palisades. The upscale shops and houses that line the highway almost obscured Surfrider Beach at Malibu. But it was small and crowded. Not worth a stop after our session at Lower’s.

I hoped that Point Zero, Leo Carrillo or County Line would provide material for our second session of the day. Point Zero and Leo Carrillo were small. But County Line inexplicably had four-foot sets on the beach in front of the highway. The point itself had only one surfer and offered up clean 1-3’ rights.

Getting ready for a go-out at County Line.

The boys chose the beach break peaks. I paddled out on my new 6’2” Mini-Simmons and proceeded to catch about 8-10 fun rights for a quick 45-minute session. After surfing, we crossed the street to the legendary Neptune’s Net seafood restaurant that surfers have frequented since 1958. We scarfed down fish and chips, and a crab cake burger. It was a great finish to a fun session.

My talk in Santa Barbara went well, and the boys and I slept soundly after our long day and two surf sessions. The following day was to be the grand finale—a trip to the Hollister Ranch.

The Ranch

At the invitation of a Ranch resident we spent the morning cruising the amazingly beautiful and bucolic coastal seascape of Southern California’s only private coastal cattle ranch and super high-end coastal residential retreat (one estate is on the market for $22 million!). While the surf was small, the boys scored a fun 2-3’ session by themselves at Rights and Lefts.

As the boys, came in from their session, a pod of gray whales frolicked offshore. It was a fitting goodbye for a great trip along Southern California’s historic surf highway.